‘And if it is true that you love me, I do not know why it is that you do not kiss me again at once. He should never sufficiently be able to regret the return which they had made to her. She had fallen into it naturally, the only expression of the dance she had ever seen or known, and that a stolen sweet. He’s riding down the drive. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss.
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